


Hiraeth

by TheDescension



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 19:57:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6871261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDescension/pseuds/TheDescension
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She weeps for the shelters she has lost in these deaths, weeps for the homes she can no longer return to, weeps for her losses and her loneliness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hiraeth

**Author's Note:**

> I really have nothing to say after the last episode. It was unfair and heartbreaking and I do not know what I will do if he does not come back as the same Leonard Snart.
> 
> This fic was not initially supposed to follow this plot. I had started writing this before 'Destiny'. But then they did what they did and I couldn't help but expand it.
> 
> So this is basically my take on the events of 'River of Time' and 'Destiny' and is not canon compliant.

It does not take her much time to find him.

By now, she knows all the places he hides in. Over time, miraculously, some of them have somehow become her shelters too and she has come to realize how much she does not mind seeking shelter with him, seeking shelter in him.

He regards her presence in his territory with a quick glance, almost appreciative in the way his eyes caress her figure. He knows she does not mind otherwise she would have made her objection very clear, with a fist or two perhaps.

She does not speak initially, allows herself to collapse onto the ground beside him, their shoulders brushing against each other. She knows he does not mind and knowing that fills her with a giddy sense of relief and happiness. She is not entirely sure when they had invested so much of trust in each other that he lets her touch him, lets her step inside the aloof bubble of his.

"Something on your mind?" he drawls when he realizes she won't be the one starting this conversation.

"Savage," she hears herself saying. She marvels at how she no longer feels the need to filter her thoughts around him.

"That son of a bitch messing with your head?" he asks immediately and if she had not known him better, she would have missed the slightest hint of protectiveness in his voice.

"He was talking about Laurel," she frowns, the recollection of Savage's voice sending chills down her spine. "He asked me if I had spoken to her lately."

Even if he suspects something, he does not say it.

"And what else?" he questions.

"He was trying to provoke me against Rip, I think."

He snorts.

"Now that would not be too hard given how our captain has decided to put all our plans of killing Savage on ice," he drawls, emphasizing on his ice pun.

She has to roll her eyes at that.

"I take you don't like Rip's plan," she says.

"Do you?" he counters.

"Not particularly but he is still the captain of this time ship."

"I choose not to care."

She sees something in his eyes the, something akin to defiance and regret intertwined together.

"What are you thinking?" she asks, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Nothing," he replies, pulling away from her and creating some distance between the two of them.

She furrows her eyebrows and tells him quietly, worry lacing her words, "You cannot kill Savage and Kendra-"

"Not my plan," he dismisses her and gets up to leave.

"Leonard," she calls after him. "Don't do anything stupid, please."

He turns around at that, lets his eyes focus on her, and only her. He does not reply, just holds her gaze for a few seconds. She finds her breath caged within and then he walks out, leaving he to bang her forehead against the wall, her breathing still frenzied and her heart beating through the panicked turmoil.

* * *

He has a bad feeling about this: his sixth sense has been kicked into overdrive ever since Savage boarded the Waverider. Something about Savage's reluctance to fight and his quiet acceptance of his fate does not add up. He knows Savage has a plan, one that none of them could understand and that unnerves him.

He hates feeling confused and unsure, he likes to have the intellectual upper hand and the fact that Savage has managed to plant a few seeds of doubt in his mind spells trouble for him.

Then there is Rip and his plan to take Savage to the Time Masters. He has a bad feeling about that too. He cannot quite pinpoint what makes him so worried and apprehensive but he believes it has something to do with his aversion to authority.

He closes the door behind him softly, not particularly ken to include anyone else on the conversation he plans to have with Gideon. He blames Savage for this heightened inquisitiveness in him that verges on being premonitory and foreboding.

"Gideon," he starts, unsure of what to expect. "What happens to Laurel Lance after we leave 2016?"

"Miss Lance is killed by Damien Darhk in 2016 after Captain Hunter recruits this team."

If he is completely honest with himself, he is not entirely surprised at this revelation. Savage mentioning Laurel to Sara had rung clear warning bells in his head but he had held himself back from making hasty decisions, more for Sara's sake than his own.

"Is there anything that can be done to prevent this?" he asks.

"I am afraid not," Gideon replies. "As Captain Hunter would put it, time wants to happen and Miss Lance's death cannot be altered in any way. I have tried a number of permutations and combinations but all end with her demise, Mr. Snart."

"Thank you, Gideon," he tells the artificial intelligence.

"I am always happy to help you, Mr. Snart. Should I locate Miss Lance for you in the ship? I presume you have to talk to her."

"Yes, please," he sighs.

* * *

It does not take him much time to find her. She is slouched against a wall in her room, sharpening her knives at murderous speed.

"Sara?" he keeps his voice low, devoid of the perfunctory drawl.

She looks up to meet his eyes, her mind registering this tone of his as being unfamiliar and incongruous. One look I his eyes and she knows what is wrong.

"Who is dead?" she asks, shocking him.

"Sara-"

"I know that look, Leonard."

He moves closer to her and sinks down in front of her.

"Your sister," he answers, not knowing how else to put it.

She stops breathing when he says that. She does not know what to make of that statement, she does not know what to believe. How was that even possible? Were they not traveling through time, changing the course of history? How could he be so certain?

"How?" is all that she manages to croak out, her voice betraying her.

"Darhk," he says, putting a hand on her knee.

"But how can you be so sure?" she demands, the initial shock slowly giving way to tears, the numbness giving way to a gripping pain.

"Gideon told me," he answers.

She finds her tears suddenly flowing with deadly determination, threatening to claim her and destroy her.

"But we are changing time," she hears herself protesting puerilely, her voice breaking, her breath catching in her throat.

His hands immediately find the small of her back, pulling her closer, wrapping her tiny form in his solid grasp.

She clutches his collar with all her might to keep herself from fading away, from disappearing into the black pit of bloodlust that she can feel burning in her veins.

He does not have anything to say, nothing to offer but meaningless redundant platitudes and consolations and so he remains silent, letting the sound of her violent sobs reign the air around them and holding her firmly against his chest, never for once letting go of her, sheltering her, protecting her and saving her, bounding her within his four safe walls.

* * *

When her tears finally dry up and her tear stains color his t-shirt, she pulls back, her body still shaking and shuddering, naked and raw, susceptible and vulnerable.

He thinks she needs some time alone and gets up to leave but is stopped in his tracks when she latches onto him again, begging him not to leave her by herself, holding onto him like he is her lifeline.

He stays.

* * *

It is Kendra who comes looking for them when they do not show for lunch.

They pull back hastily, embarrassment coloring their cheeks. She wipes away her tears and faces Kendra, hoping that her eyes are not red; the last thing she wants is pity from everyone on the team.

She does not know if she manages to fool Kendra or if the other woman chooses not to pry.

"It's late," Kendra says. "You both should eat something."

"I am not hungry," she replies, her voice still breaking despite her efforts.

"Leonard?" Kendra asks, looking at him with a barely formed question in her eyes.

"I am fine," he says.

"Leonard, go," Sara sniffs. "It's okay."

He is about to protest when she gives him a meaningful look. He follows Kendra out of the room but not before whispering to her, "I am here, assassin."

* * *

When he returns, he finds her door locked. He figures she wants to be alone and decides against knocking. He stations himself outside her room, his back against the door, his ears peeled open for the incessant sound of her sobs on the other side, for the sound of her  _breathing_ on the other side.

He knows she will not do anything stupid and impulsive but he also knows that he cannot afford to lose her.

* * *

Mick finds him outside her room.

"I thought we were leaving," Mick demands gruffly.

He sighs. That is what he had thought too but that was before he had found out about Laurel.

"There has been a change in plans, Mick," he drawls.

"As long as that includes us on the jumpship back to 2016, I don't mind."

He is contemplating on the best way to tell his partner that he has decided not to leave when the door to her room opens.

He finds himself the subject of a pair of enraged apoplectic eyes as she crosses the distance between them and shoves him against the wall.

"Fuck you," she hisses through clenched teeth.

Mick appears to enjoy their exchange with a fair share of amusement.

"I can explain," he says calmly, still held against the wall.

"Save it," she spits. "I always knew you were a coward."

He does not retaliate, he sees no point or purpose in it. He lets her angry words wash over him, lets her fists hit his chest a few times.

When she finally releases him, he says, "I was thinking of not leaving."

Her eyes narrow at that and her lips curve into a sardonic smile.

"For what, Leonard?" she scoffs. "Because my sister is dead?"

He cringes as Mick slowly backs away, realizing the gravity of the situation.

"Because, I-"

"I don't need your pity," she screams, her eyes a flaming red. "I thought you understood that."

He wants to tell her how utterly wrong she is but finds himself unable to do so and so he stalks off, leaving her behind, alone and lonely, slumped on the floor, at mercy to her demons.

* * *

Before she can collect her thoughts or he can curse Stein for letting Jax take the jumpship, Savage breaks out of his cell.

Suddenly there is pandemonium all around and she finds herself being drawn to her duty, her mind momentarily void, the pain momentarily absent.

She wants to tell Rip that she will be a lot better off fighting Savage because she can feel her bloodlust peaking but holds herself back, knowing she cannot face Leonard now, and so she acquiesces in his demand and navigates her way through time.

* * *

The apology is short but heartfelt from her side and before long they have cards spread on the bed between them.

He notices how she avoids the topic of Laurel and steers clear of anything that in any way embodies her sister.

Perhaps he should not blame her for being an escapist because had he been in her place, he would have done the same. But he realizes how important it is for her to talk, to find an outlet for her grief.

"You should talk about it, you know," he says suddenly, stopping her midway in her actions.

"I don't want to," she whispers. "There is nothing I can do about it, nothing will help."

He looks at her patiently, prodding her to go on.

"I guess," she begins, her eyes misty. "I am still clinging onto the hope that a miracle can happen, that I can in some way save her after we are done with Savage, is that so wrong?"

His heart wrenches in pain at that and he cannot bring himself to tell her what Gideon had told him: that there was no way to save her sister.

She wipes away the stray tear that had rolled down her cheek and then whispers, "But if I ever want to talk, I'll find you."

"I'll be there," he promises her.

"Thank you," she says gratefully.

They bask in the silence that showers itself upon them after that.

She finds herself winning, not a regular occurrence, when he almost drags her to the underground compartment he had discovered, just in time to save them from being taken captive.

* * *

It is dark and congested inside their hideout. She does not even have room to breathe: their bodies plastered together, their hands tightly wound around each other, her head buried in his shoulders. They dare not speak, unsure of what is unfolding in the timeship.

She is scared, she can admit that to herself. After the news of Laurel, she really could have done with some normalcy, a period of calm.

She feels his hands snaking their way around her waist, barely grazing her exposed skin and despite all that has happened and is happening, she feels tiny embers of desire spark inside her. She lifts her head to meet his eyes, only to find his gaze already fixed on her.

She shudders and wonders what it would feel like to press her lips against his, to have his taste dancing on her lips, to willingly give away a piece of her to him and have him rule all her senses.

She finds herself inching closer to him, closer to his bewildered blue eyes, closer to his lips that are not twisted into a smug grin, but she stops when she hears the clattering of boots above them.

They stay in silence for a while, their moment already lost.

And when they are convinced that it is safe to step out of their hiding, they move out quietly, never for once mentioning that incident, brushing it aside like it never happened.

Because the world was waiting to be saved.

* * *

Mere minutes later, she is at gunpoint, the cold gun trained on her, his voice chilling her, his words crippling her, his eyes unreachable and steely.

And just for a second, she fears that he will pull the trigger, fears that everything between them had been a lie.

* * *

He does not pull the trigger though and when she is warding off demons all by herself, he finds her.

It is hardly an apology but that is all, she knows, she will ever get from him.

And then he tells her what she has yearned to hear all this while but has also feared and evaded: that he has thought about them being an us.

She does not know how to respond. She mentally curses everyone and everything around her for the circumstances never being right for her to fall in love.

_Love._

That thought sends her scrambling on her feet and before she runs away and locks herself up where no one can find her, she manages to tell him, feigning indifference, "You wanna steal a kiss from me, Leonard? You better be one hell of a thief."

* * *

He finds her again before the Waverider lands at the Oculus Wellspring.

She is sharpening her knives and tucking them into her outfit when he appears at her door.

"I am sorry," he barely whispers.

"For what?" she demands, surprised.

"Everything: this, the gun, your sister. I really am sorry."

She does not know how to reply and so she asks him what has been haunting her for hours.

"Would you have pulled the trigger?"

"Not even if I had a gun on my head."

* * *

She knows things are about to go south when Rip tells them that Mick has elected to stay.

She sees it in his eyes long before he starts running. She follows without question, where he is, she is too.

She figures he has a plan, he always does. Turns out this time is no exception, only his plan does not include getting himself out of there alive.

"No," she says, her voice breaking as he puts his hand inside the device.

"Just do it," he says, his eyes pleading with her.

She swallows a few times, fighting to keep the tears at bay. She waits, still in a trance, believing that someone would come running, telling them that there was another way, that they had an option, that he had an option but nothing happens.

His eyes do not leave her and when she finally realizes that this is it, that there is no way out, she crosses the distance between them and grabbing his arms, presses her lips onto his.

Her heart grips in pain more than it dances with joy then. He tastes of ashes and destruction, misery and death yet unmistakably and undeniably of life and revival.

She pulls back reluctantly, a thousand words coming to her head yet none leaving her mouth, all losing their way in the anfranctuous labyrinth of remorse.

She knows she is running out of time and so she leaves, taking a final look at the man she had started to fall in love with, the man who was giving up his life to save everyone else, the man who was nothing but a hero.

* * *

When she boards the ship with the rest of the team, she moves in a blur, her mind still not registering the events of the last few minutes.

It is when she hears the explosion behind them that she breaks out of her trance and collapses on the ground, hard tears jolting her as she craves for the arms she knows are gone forever.

* * *

She does not sleep that night. She thinks of her sister and she thinks of him. She wants to scream and yell, she wants to talk to someone about the emptiness inside her that is swallowing her but there is no one to listen to her.

He had promised he would be there when she wanted to talk but now he is gone.

She weeps then: weeps for the shelters she has lost in these deaths, weeps for the homes she can no longer return to, weeps for her losses and her loneliness.

She finds her way to his room and weeps again, surrounded by his scent, overwhelmed by the feeling of  _him._

How could he be gone?

She cries herself to sleep, her head buried in his parka that she had found neatly folded on the bed and their deck of cards tightly grasped in her hand.

* * *

Mick gives her his ring the next day and tells her to keep his parka.

She tells him he should have something too.

"He already gave me my life," he says before leaving her.

* * *

She drifts off to sleep these days in the temporal zone where they are planning for their final mission wrapped in his parka, his ring safely worn around her finger.

And every time just before slumber claims her, she sees him: the glint in his eyes, the twist in his lips, the gun in his hand, the parka around his shoulders, his touch on her skin and she is convinced that it will not take her much time to find him.


End file.
